by Amelia Love

Created on: May 21, 2009   Last Updated: May 27, 2009

They were silent at the funeral, although they glanced at him from the corner of their eyes. They saw his pain, but they felt no sympathy. The girl was gone, snatched away forever. Her drug-wracked body could bear no more, and now it lay beneath the earth, slowly crumbling within the soil. They loved her. They ached for her. If he loved her too, they thought, then he would have stopped it from happening.

They surrounded him after the funeral, angrily demanding his explanation. She was your child, one said fiercely. You watched her plummet. Why didn't you stop it?

I tried, the father replied, tears streaming down his face. I begged her to listen. She wouldn't hear me.

You should have tried harder, another one said.

Night and day, I begged and pleaded with her. I tried to take the drugs away. She kept going back to them.

You should have taken her to a drug rehab program.

I did, over and over again. But she would not go in. By now, the father's tears had turned into sobs. But his great pain did not move the accusers.

Then you should have tried harder, the first one said.

I pulled her to me. I pulled her closer and closer, loving her more fiercely. But she ran to someone else instead, and he gave her more and more drugs, and he dragged her further and further down.

Then you should have went after her, another voiced.

I did. Over and over again. But she kept running from me.

Then you should have forced her to come home, said another.

But she would have run again. And then again and again. Don't you see? She had to want my help, because I could not force it on her.

Then you should have sent others after her, replied the first.

I sent her mother to her. And her closest friends. I told them to plead with her. I told them to bring her home. But she wouldn't listen to any of them.

This is all your fault, said another.

But don't you hear me? Don't you know I never stopped? Don't you know my heart burns with a love and an ache that is beyond yours? The father's voice cracked, and he broke down again.

That doesn't matter, answered the first. We will always hate you for her death.

And they left, one by one, in anger, in hate, in ignorance.

And the father continued to weep.

They were silent at the funeral, although they glanced at Him from the corner of their eyes. They sensed His pain, but they felt no sympathy. The girl was gone, snatched away forever. Her sin-wracked soul could bear no more,

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